


Hearts of Glass

by callmetotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Sirius Black, F/M, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmetotty/pseuds/callmetotty
Summary: Her world changed with a sickening crack. Her life, gone in bits of sand and glass. The longer that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are stuck in the 1970s the question becomes should they be sent back, rather than can they at all. After all, Death Eater's roam the halls of Hogwarts, living ghosts walk onward to their untimely demises and Voldemort breathes fresh air. And there isn't a damn thing she can do about it.





	1. Prologue: Strangers in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be Part One of a Two-Part Series. The main pairing will be Remus/Hermione, but there will be a heavy focus on a Draco/Hermione Friendship—the friendship will be a very slow developing one. They will be beginning in the Third Year of Hogwarts, but this story will stretch to at least Sixth Year so there WILL be mature content, just slow developing. There will be a Bi! Sirius and both Draco and Sirius will have some serious unrequited pining. I am currently writing Chapter 5 and have through Chapter 10 planned, so there will be regular updates!

It was raining.

The damp smell in the air brought her a mild comfort, for reasons she didn’t quiet understand. It was a bitter, cold rain, one that her wool coat could not prevent her bones from feeling. As uncomfortable as it should have been, she took a strange liking to it; feeling something—anything at all. _What had she expected?_ Greeting’s with open arms? Shouts of joy upon seeing her unfamiliar, but bright face? Had she really expected for everyone just to pick up where they left off, with no question, no wondering? No hostility? How many years had she been gone? Three? _Had it only been three years?_ Three years felt like a life time. _It was a lifetime ago._

She would tell herself not to dwell on the past but the statement itself was too ironic to bear with any sincerity. Half of her heart was in the past so how dare she push herself to not dwell in it?

What would she be doing in Wiltshire if she wasn’t dwelling in the past?

The Tonks’ residence was nestled in a quiet, perfectly normal muggle neighborhood at the corner of Chestnut and Pine. It was not a luxurious home, but a small, white brick home with a small front porch and a muggle swing in the front yard. It was quiet and unassuming. Rain splashed beneath her boots as she came to a halt in front of the white picketed gate leading to the residence. The question of _why_ she was here at all pushed at her. It wasn’t like she had personally been close to Andromeda at all. She barely knew her – in comparison to the boys she was as stranger.

But when all those you love are dead—when the ones you have left feel such hatred they will not gaze at your face—she longed for familiarity; above all, she needed clarity.

She had little time to regret any decision to come to the Tonks’ residence before Andromeda herself opened her heavy wooden front door and stepped onto the porch with arms crossed. She had aged much—her face still familiar—still holding that _classic_ pure-blood beauty that Black’s were so well known for. But her eyes were kind, honey pools that peered at her with a scrutiny you would with a long-lost acquaintance. Her hair—chestnut brown—was tied in a loose bun on the top of her head. She wore muggle clothing—a light beige top with well worn jeans and bare feet.

“Twenty damn years,” Andromeda shouted above the rain, “And you still look like you have a stick shoved up your ass.”

She huffed a laugh, still holding onto the gate but not moving forward. It was as if she moved any more—even a hair—and everything around her would be fixed in reality. “I cannot say the same for you Andromeda. You have changed much since you lost the Black name.”

“I have not lost anything,” she said with a familiar severe look on her face, “If anything, by loosing the Black name I gained much.” She paused before stepping off of the dry safety of her porch into the rain. Not a word was spoken but with each step of her bare feet against the concrete walkway toward the gate, her grip on the small picketed door tightened. Nose to nose with Andromeda Black—Mia couldn’t breathe. She was so much older, and yet Mia remained the same. Locked in time at 16. What would she think? What questions would Andromeda ask? This had been a mistake—

Andromeda reached her callused hands forward and gently pulled down Mia’s hood from her head. Her eyes fluttered shut as Andromeda’ held her face with a gentle touch only a mother could possess.

“Will you please come inside?” Andromeda asked gently, “We have, much to discuss and I do not wish to leave a friend in the rain.”

Mia nodded, her long black locks saturated by the rain that was quickly turning into a downpour. Mia crossed over the gate, following Andromeda onto the dry porch in silence. She paused at the front door speaking in a low voice, “Remus—Remus, He,” Mia stopped, clearing her voice. Words were so damn difficult. Difficult to admit to yourself, but harder to speak out loud. “Remus did not wait for me. He said he left his love in the past—where it should stay.”

“Mia,” Andromeda said her name gently, but with a hard edge to it. “It has been _twenty years_ for us. What else were you expecting? To show up, not a day older and expect Remus to be sixteen and _wildly in love again_? It has been a hard twenty years—to expect anything less than confusion and anger is foolishness.”

“Perhaps I am foolish then,” Mia whispered, walking into the small living room of the Tonks resident, but not sitting down, “I expected understanding, at the very least.”

“Mia,” Andromeda nearly laughed, sitting down in a small armchair near a warm fireplace. It was a cozy room, but plain. Tan arm chairs and a sofa with a small box tv that looked scarcely used—a thick coat of dust across the screen. The only evidence of personality in the room at all being pictures hung about the room—a young girl in all of them who seemed to have the ability to change her appearance. Who she assumed to be Andromeda’s daughter—seemed to take  a great joy in it. Each time she would change her hair color she would point to the other portrait’s and _laugh_. “Mia, Remus’ is giving you understanding—but what you are asking for is love unconditional. Love that waits through time and space.” She gave another harsh, sharp laugh that was classical Andromeda--- familiar. “That is not understanding—that is fantasy.”

 _Fantasy?_ Mia huffed a laugh as she looked up to the mirror above the mantel. She had been Mia so long, she scarcely remembered who she really was. Dark chocolate hair falling down her back in wet, but beautiful large ringlets. Large, open blue eyes framed with long thick lashes. High cheekbones with full lips. Her entire identity was a lie? How long had it been since she looked in the mirror and saw herself? _Since she had heard her own name?_

“My name is Hermione Granger,” Mia whispered – to the mirror more than Andromeda. “My mother and father are muggle dentists. I was in my Third Year when Draco Malfoy and I was taken back to 1973 in an accident with a time turner.”

She chanced a glance over at Andromeda, who was looking at her through wide, eyes. The shock in her face wasn’t overly apparent—but it was there. A mild undercurrent of surprise. “Well, I be damned,” Andromeda whispered to herself more than Mia, “Welcome home Hermione Granger.”

Mia shook her head. Being called Hermione felt _foreign._ She knew logically that it was something she would have to adjust too. Just as she had Mia. But being in Mia’s skin felt more like home than _Hermione._ At least now it did. “I don’t have a home—” she said as the glamour began to fall away—leaving wild light brown locks, a long, angular nose and small, thin lips. “Not anymore.”

Mia never took her eyes off that mirror through the silence. She never took her eyes off the stranger in the mirror.

 


	2. Pieces of the Past

**_Year: 1993 Age: 13_ **

She was never one to consider a Professor in a bad light (perhaps excluding Professor Snape, for good reasons mind you) but Professor Babbling was truly living up to her name sake today. Perhaps it was all the coursework weighing her down, but Hermione was tired. Physically and mentally drained, and the cool spring day from beyond the stuffy Runes classroom called to her like sweet music. Professor Babbling paced, the click of her abnormally large red heals across the stone floor, pacing in front of a drawing board filled with runes. They had finally moved from the history of Ancient Runes to what the Professor referred to as the “basics.” While she could never admit it to Harry and Ron, the class bored her a bit. She had read through _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ at least twice by now and quiet understood the basic numerical and alphabetical system. Professor Babbling was now going into great detail about the rune salamander and how it represented the number six.

Hermione sank her head onto her hand, watching the front of the class with a sort of glazed expression.  She truly hoped charms would be a bit more entertaining—after missing the Cheering Charm she was most egger to show Professor Flitwick she wasn’t slipping due to her immense course load.  She was just taking down a few notes on the life span of the salamander in the sun when a wad of parchment floated onto her desk and landed with a soft thud. Hermione’s sigh was loud enough that Professor Babbling actually took a breath and cut her eyes toward her, before continuing about the importance of the number six in ancient wizarding mythology.

She did her best to ignore the note. Yes, that would be the best course of action—do not rise to his taunts. It was Hermione’s luck that Draco Malfoy had chosen Ancient Runes and his taunts over the semester had progressed to nearly unbearable. If he wasn’t groaning that his arm would never quiet heal right, he was imitating Harry fainting or wondering what method the ministry would use when they decapitated Buckbeak. She imagined that the parchment that had found its way onto to her Ancient Runes notes would no doubt contain something infuriating about one of those subjects. Or perhaps he had moved back to his old taunts about her blood, bushy hair or buck teeth.

She flicked the parchment into the floor with a tap of her quill and continued to work on her notes. Every now and then she would hear a snigger from behind her—or see the parchment levitating out of the corner of her eye but she did not rise to the occasion. Trying her patience with deep bags underneath her eyes, she endured his insufferable taunts until Professor Babbling ended the class with an abrupt silence, packing her things into a knapsack and clearing the board with an absent-minded wave of her wands. Hermione slowly packed her things, finishing the last bit of notes while she waited for the classroom to clear out. She would have to turn back twice to make it to charms—and she would need to do it quickly. Charms was half way across the castle from the Rune’s class and she would be devastated if she missed another class. It was as she was shoving her books quickly into her bag that she saw the small ball of parchment float eye level again—that she realized she was not alone in the classroom. Spinning round on her heel, she glared at Malfoy angrily but didn’t speak. She couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth. She was sure she could only make matters worse if she did.

Malfoy sauntered closer to her, his bag hanging lazily off his shoulder. Much had changed about Malfoy this year. Beyond being even more of an insufferable git, Malfoy had let his hair grow out and hang loosely, framing his face. If it wasn’t that he was an absolutely slimly evil git—she would perhaps even admit that he had grown quite nice to look at. Puberty was obviously beginning to work wonders for the boy. He had grown nearly a foot from their previous years and was beginning to lose his baby face. It did not change the fact that he was nearly intolerable. His sneering comments toward Harry and treatment of Buckbeak had reduced any stirring inside of her that might react to new found looks as it did other girls. Merlin knows she was no Lavender or Parvati.

“What’s the matter Granger,” He laughed, circling her, “Don’t want to read my note?”

The class was empty save for the pair of them. Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t make it through Rune’s even if they tried. As much as she hated to admit it—Malfoy was second in his marks for their year, and nearly always out did her in in potions due to Snape’s favoritism. Despite her obvious hatred of the blonde boy, he never felt threatened enough by her to leave her be. He knew that she would never attack a fellow student without being extremely provoked. Following rules was an unfortunate weakness of hers.

“I am busy Malfoy. I don’t have time for your games today. Sorry to disappoint,” She gritted out, shoving her parchment roughly into her bulging bag.

Malfoy stepped closer, tapping his fingers on her bag with a curious glint in his silver eyes. He cut his gaze toward her bag with a tilt of his head. His smirk turned her stomach. With a firm grip on her bag she took a step back from her desk.

“Curious thing my father told me Granger, “He mused looking back up at her, stepping forward, “Have you heard that McGonagall petitioned the ministry over the summer for a Time-Turner?”

Unconsciously she clutched the Time-Turner tucked underneath her robes. Malfoy didn’t miss the action and she silently cursed herself as his smirk turned to a full-blown grin. Hermione completely jerked her bag off the table as she scurried backward, her parchments flying out of her bag as it thudded on the floor.

“How am I supposed to know what Professor McGonagall does and why?” she stammered out, “Piss off Malfoy! I have to get to class.”

The benefit of having longer legs, she supposed, was that it only took one long stride to bring him face to face with her again, nearly pressing her against the drawing board behind her. She had completely let go of her bag, leaving her belongings scattered across the floor haphazardly.

“Oh,” he whispered despite the empty classroom. He was close enough she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I think you have a good idea. Brightest witch of the age just a bit to over egger with her class load? My my, what would others think?” he pondered. She was helpless, gripping her wand, yet doing absolutely nothing. His fingers slipped under her robes, pulling the long gold cord out from underneath them. “Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Princess using a Time-Turner to fudge her marks.”

“I do not cheat!” Hermione yelped finding her voice. She grasped onto the chain as if it was her life source. Despite the fact, Malfoy did not let go of the Time-Turner. If anything, her reaction seemed to egg him on. He grasped the pendent and ran his finger across the sand-filled vial.

“Who would believe you? The evidence is all here. I assume you haven’t even told Weasel or Potter. They haven’t been to forgiving anyway. What would they think?”

“They would never believe you,” She spat fiercely, despite the fact she internally agreed. Harry and Ron have been angry with her for most of the year. After Harry’s broom and loosing Scabbers, she doubted they would be very forgiving of her keeping a secret at all. His smirk had now blossomed into a full-blown smile—teeth and all. She truly understood why the hat had placed him in Slytherin.

“You know,” He mused, “I didn’t quite get full marks in potion’s earlier. Longbottom was sharing a table with me and melted his cauldron.” He tutted, his eyes fixed on the turner. “If I got a re-do, I’m sure we could keep this little matter between us. Our secret.”

She jerked the chain out of his grasp, moving quickly toward the door. Malfoy blocked her smoothly—his Seeker training clearly out matching her average physical abilities.

“I will not break the rules for you!” she hissed, “Let me pass!”

“I don’t think I will!” He reached out quickly, grasping the gold chain firmly. “I don’t think such a precious magical should be used by a mudblood alone.”

Like fire, Hermione felt the anger rolling beneath her skin. “Now if only you could catch the snitch as quickly as you grabbed my necklace, you might be able to win your house a match!”

Malfoy’s face screwed up in anger. If it wasn’t for his tug on the Time-Turner, she would feel quite proud of herself. Physically she was no match for Malfoy, but she couldn’t just let him take it. She had vowed to McGonagall to protect it at all costs. She struggled, gripping the chain hard trying to jerk it out of his grasp. Malfoy has backed her completely against the wall now and blocked her against it.

“If I can’t have it, I say we go on a little trip,” he whispered savagely, taking the turner and with quick movements of his fingertips, set the pendent spinning.

“Get off Malfoy!” She scratched, “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”

She felt the familiar jolt of time running backwards and she panicked. There was no way to tell how far he was sending her back—with how fast the vial was spinning it could be days. Malfoy suddenly looked her in the eyes, all grins wiped clear off his face and replaced with pure terror.

“What are you playing at Granger!” He yelled, grabbing for the pendent, “Make it stop!”

“I can’t stop it you idiot!” She retorted, trying to pull the pendent from his grasp. The sudden motion and Malfoy’s desperate attempts to stop the spin of the vial was met with a sickening crack. She gasped, sand spilling out of the vial and whipping the pair in the face from the force spin. The reverse kept spinning faster, and it was all she could do to hold tight onto the golden chain, closing her eyes to keep from getting sick. She felt the motion; the spin of time faster than she had ever felt it before. It was like rewinding a film, expect she was the film. She could feel Malfoy grip her arm for some sort of balance as he groaned. How far back was it sending them? Weeks at least. A sharp jolt ran through her at the mere thought of it. Sure the time turner can rewind time—but no known way could send her forward. While the Ministry’s Experimental Magic Committee certainly researched the topic, it was considered far too dangerous to go forward in time. If she went back weeks- even months—how could she get back? She would have to wait out the time. The thought made her lurch and she felt vomit rising in her throat. How would she hide for that period of time? Perhaps Professor—

The motion of reversal sudden ceased and she instantly began to vomit onto the floor. Uncontrollably, she retched onto the stone—her vomit hitting the ground with a sickening splat. She continued until she was sure she had completely emptied herself and continued to dry heave as she gripped onto the desk nearest to her, her feet slipping on the sticky vomit beneath her shoes. She felt the splatter in her hair, on her face and hands. Without opening her eyes, Hermione feebly pointed her wand at the ground and whispered, “Tergeo.” Instantly, she felt her stomach contents disappear from the floor, her shoes and robes wiped clean of mess. She felt her knees give way and she sank into the floor, dropping her head onto the wall behind her. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The classroom swam around her—if possible making her even more nauseous. After breathing deeply for a few moments, she tried to open her eyes again, with a bit better result. The classroom swam slightly in front of her—blurred but evening out as her racing heart began to slow.

With a jolt she looked over at Malfoy, on all fours heaving onto the floor. He was seemed to be uncontrollably dry heaving. While she could use Ferula to ease his pain, and possibly nausea—the situation she was in dampened any possible pity she could have for him.

“Yes Granger,” He spit out once he could speak, “Just sit there. No bloody help as usual.”

“No help?” She hissed, “No help! It’s thanks to you we are even in this mess!”

She pulled herself off the floor and looked around the classroom. The room appeared unchanged—all except for the sunset casting tones of blue, red and deep orange into the room.

“Sunset.” She muttered. So it was certain that she had at least went back a day. By the length of the reverse and how sick she felt, she was had a sickening feeling it might be weeks. They very well could be in a ruddy mess.

“What the hell did you do Granger?” Malfoy growled looking out the window in abject horror. “Where are we?”

“What did I do! Do I need to remind you that you started all of this?” She whispered. She felt like screaming, but she couldn’t take the chance. If anyone heard her—god forbid if herself heard her—no she couldn’t think of that. “It’s not where. It’s _when_. And the answer to that question is I don’t know.”

She muttered the last part stiffly. Difficult to admit she didn’t know. She tried to gather herself; the situation made her head spin. _What to do. What to do._ “Well that is the only option isn’t it?” she muttered to herself.

“Would you mind telling me, what in blazes your talking about!”

At this she snapped. In quick strides she crossed the room and flung him against the wall hard, “Do you have any idea what you have done! We haven’t just gone back hours. We went back days. Possibly weeks! Months!”

“Well turn the ruddy thing back!”

“Are you brainless!” She screeched, “Time-Turners only go back never forward! They haven’t found a way to go forward in time yet! And even if I could you broke it! Broke it!” Holding the chain up for him to see, the glass vial had completely shattered, and the dust lost in time as it sent them backward. “This is beyond even me Malfoy. Now if you are done we must find Dumbledore.” Hermione let go of his robes and turned moving swiftly for the door.

“What--”

 She rounded on him, drawing her wand, “Do you know what happens to wizards who break the laws of time? Awful things Malfoy and I am not talking detention. I am talking death. It is paramount we find Dumbledore immediately and we must not be seen.”

For once in his life, Malfoy snapped his mouth shut. For one moment he seemed to be mulling over her words silently. Finally, he gave her a short nod, attempting to straighten his wrinkled robes. “You first then.” He grunted.

Hermione rolled her eyes and eased the door open, peering out at the empty corridor. She could hear the patter of a few students in the halls beyond them—but for the most part they seemed to be cleared out. Most likely at dinner in the Great Hall. Lucky at that. Lord only knows what would happen if someone seen them. If they saw themselves.

She moved swiftly through the halls hugging the walls, staying close to the shadow. A Hufflepuff girl passed her and she tucked her head fixating her gaze on the floor. The girl took little notice as she stumbled past her sniffing. She paid no mind to the girls tears and moved as quickly as possible to Dumbledore’s office. She scarcely glanced to check if Malfoy was behind her. She could feel him back there, his eyes glued on her back. Hermione itched at the thought. _Saving this insufferable git after what he has done. If it wasn’t for the laws of time I should have left him. Of all people to be stuck with._

She growled but stayed focused on the hallways until she reached the stone gargoyle that protected the Headmaster’s office. What was the last password? She searched her mind and came up blank. What were those candies he ate? It always has something to do with sweets.

“Lemon drop?” She guessed, but the statue remained still. “Sherbet?” again no movement. “Pumpkin Pasties?”

At that it sprang to life. Hermione quickly stepped inside onto the rising stairway, pulling Malfoy in with her. As she road upward, she felt that she could finally breathe. The stairway slowed to a crawl and stopped, depositing the pair outside of the great wooden doors of the Headmaster’s office. She slumped against the door, letting her forehead fall against it with a thud. “Merlin,” she muttered, “Let it only be a week.”

Like it was the hardest thing she had ever done, Hermione raised a shaking hand and slowly rapped on the door. She tossed a glance behind her at Malfoy who seemed to be barely breathing. The look of terror had yet to leave his face. If anything, it was only deepening into panic as he realized the possibilities of the mess he had placed them in. You couldn’t just run to Diagon Alley and obtain a Time-Turner. With no known way to get forward in time, they were virtually stuck. Their only hope was that they haven’t gone as far as she feared. Perhaps Dumbledore will know what to do.

“He must.” She whispered, tapping on the door again.

At long last, Hermione heard a familiar voice bellow, “Enter!” reaching for the handle, she jerked the large door open and propelled herself into the familiar office.

“Professor Dumbledore!” She said with a slight shake of desperation, “Tell me what the date is?”

In dark orange robes, Dumbledore leaned across his desk, tapping his fingers against a rather large, tattered book. His white beard dipped below the desk and his eyes narrowed as he watched them for several heavy seconds. “October 20th, 1973.”

In an instant, Hermione felt the stilling of her heartbeat. “Come again?”

“October 20th--”

“1973,” She whispered with him. Unbidden, tears spilled down her face. She vaguely heard clattering behind her—she could only assume Malfoy was having some sort of fit but she couldn’t care less. “1973?” It was a wordless whisper. She put her hands into her hair, matting it and pulling hard. “1973?” She felt the world spin around her and she gripped onto the desk hard. But it was no use—her knees gave way and she slipped onto the floor. Harry. Ron. They were twenty years out of her reached. Her parents? Were in school—meeting for the first time. She was alone. All alone save— _Malfoy_.  Before she could think she was on him- rounding her fist back and hitting him hard in the gut. She struck blindly, without care or reason. He barely fought against her—not speaking a word—only grunting with each punch, each swift kick. She felt two long arms come around her, pulling her backward off Malfoy. She looked up at Dumbledore and heaved uncontrollable sobs as she dropped into the chair in front of his desk. “1973,” She whispered, a heavy blanket of shock washing over her. She wordlessly handed Dumbledore the broken Time-Turner.

Silence stretched around them. Even when Malfoy took the chair beside her she said nothing. She could only stare blankly out at Dumbledore. Finally, the Headmaster whispered, “Tell me everything.”

She wasn’t sure how, but the truth just spilled out of her. Her heavy class load, the Time-Turner. Their rightful year and the incident between them in the Runes Classroom. Dumbledore only nodded, watching her intently until she was finished. To her surprise, Malfoy never rose to talk back. He stayed silent, staring at the floor with panicked expression. His grey eyes wide with shock, his thin lips opened slightly with fear. 

“You know what this means Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked after Hermione went quiet, “I do not have the ability to send you back. While it may be possible it will take quite some time to complete. Research on Time-Turners will be necessary, and I dare say there are not many left of them. Spell work and runes may be possible—but it could be months, years before I can give you an answer.”

“Years!” Malfoy bellowed leaping from the armchair, “What do you mean years! I need to get back now! I need to go home!”

“While there is nothing more I would like to do than grant you that wish Mr. Malfoy.  At the present time it is out of my ability and hands. Time-Turners are not toys. They are not to be played with and to say your actions were careless is a gross understatement,” Dumbledore growled out the words, cutting Malfoy a scathing look that made the blond boy shrink back into the chair.

“At the present time,” he continued with a breath, “I can only hope to keep you safe within Hogwarts. It is unfortunate you have come to us in such dark times. I cannot report this incidence to the Ministry. It may well land you in Azkaban or worse. As you have knowledge of time that we do not, there are dark forces at work that would wish to use that knowledge and I strongly suspect they have Ministry ties. I will need time to think on this. There are a few things that are clear to me-- you will need to be placed within the school as students for your own protection. The Dark forces that are stirring may have eyes and ears here—but you cannot be harmed here. We should take a night to recuperate and start fresh tomorrow. There is much work to be done and I am sure you all feel very ill from you journey. For the night, I will set you up some private quarters in my office until we know exactly how to tackle this head on. I will encourage you however, to make yourself at home in the present time and to make the attempt to live your lives as normally as possible.”

Both stayed quiet throughout his instructions, vacantly nodding. Hermione couldn’t process her situation Make herself at home? Live our lives normally? How could there be any possibility of normal after this? What would Harry do? And Ronald? Her parents?

Tears spilled from her eyes as she looked desperately up at Professor Dumbledore. He gave her an expression that could only be described as pity, but they were helpless. Crying—she told herself—would do no good now. She was far into the past out of the reach of any loved ones with no current hope of help. All she could do was make the best out of the situation.

Professor Dumbledore swept out of sight into the darkness of the back of his office, leaving Hermione and Malfoy alone with their thoughts. Neither spoke, but the death grip that Hermione had on her armchair was a testament to the willpower it took to keep herself from launching herself at him. She had never felt hate quiet like this before. How could she have dreamed she could be sent here? That her own hubris—her own foolish pride to uphold her intelligence could go as far as displace them in time?

She was struck by her own thoughts. _Her hubris?_ If she had not insisted on taking as many classes as possible, would she have even had a time turner in the first place? Would she have been so distant to Harry and Ron recently that they had been able to feel such hatred for her in the first place?

 _No._ Her drive for achievement had _nothing_ to do with this. _She_ didn’t do this. _Malfoy did._ His arrogance and “pure-blood” mentality that he prided himself over _so much_ had drove him to forcefully attempt to take a very dangerous magical artifact from her on the simple grounds that she was muggleborn. That she didn’t _deserve his ancient relics._ The anger inside of her began to boil over to the surface. She cut a hard look toward Malfoy and it broke loose inside of her.

“What the bloody hell are you looking at you stupid mudblood?” He spat from his chair.

Something inside of her _snapped_. Without warning, a force of magic swept Malfoy from his armchair and pushed him against the wall behind him. Dumbledore’s clocks and trinkets rattled in chimes at the force that Malfoy hit the wall—his feet dangling above the ground. It held him in such a capacity that he was unable to even struggle against it. The only faint movement coming from the quick rise and fall of his chest.

“ _Look at me.”_

His neck snapped down so hard toward her that she knew that it wasn’t of his own will. He looked at her with wide eyes. _Fear._ She had seen that look on his face before, but never because of her. No. Malfoy had always laughed in contempt of her. Laughed because she beat his grades. That a mudblood dared to score higher than him—a pure blood. That a mudblood dare walk the halls of Hogwarts as if she belonged there. Not only a mudblood but an _ugly_ one at that.

“You think you are so high above me Malfoy,” She laughed, almost as shocked as Malfoy at her own actions, “Well tell me, how do you like _it now?”_

“Miss Granger!”

At the sound of the booming voice, Malfoy fell to the ground with a thump hard enough to crack bone. A very audible groan emitted from his heaping form on the ground, but nothing else. Professor Dumbledore stood behind her—and while his voice sounded stern, his expression seemed almost soft. Sympathetic.

“Miss Granger,” He started a bit softer “Do you know the difference between good and bad? Between us, and the Dark?”

She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She already knew this answer, but shame filled her regardless. _Our actions._ It is how we present ourselves to the world—and more importantly how we treat our enemies that show us who we really are. She knew that—but putting that in practice was much harder than anyone could anticipate.

He arched a bushy eyebrow at her silence. “Mr. Malfoy I am sure you are no worse for wear? Do you need the hospital wing?”

There was a clear groan of _no_ from behind the toppled armchair. While her actions were _wrong_ she still found a bit of justice in them. Once Malfoy was up to his feet and (mostly) standing on his own against the now righted armchair, Dumbledore waved the pair to the back of his office through the wondering maze of clocks, stacks of books and other magical trinkets. Near the very back Hermione found two doors leading farther back to what appeared to be small suites. While there was little detail to be seen from the rooms—she did see a very plain small bed and what appeared to be a wash basin.

“These are the best I am afraid I could come up with in such short notice. I have had a plate of sandwiches brought up for the both of you and a clean set of sleepwear. When you wake in the morning, I should have most of the details of your stay here sorted out,” he paused, giving them both very long searching looks, “I can trust you two to have a peaceful, and interrupted night’s sleep then?”

Hermione only nodded before he left with a short bow and went off toward the entrance of his office. She didn’t quite trust herself to have dinner in the presence of Malfoy and truth be told, she wasn’t much hungry. She felt wickedly nauseous. She had always felt a bit sick after traveling back a few hours—but Hermione had journeyed back twenty _years._ The dizziness and headache that her adrenaline had kept at bay hit her with the force of a truck. Head splitting, with heavy limbs Hermione dragged herself into the small, plain room. She didn’t even bother to take her school robes off; only kicking of her black flats before crawling under the heavy blankets and loosing herself to sleep. It was a fitful sleep- the aches and nausea waking her in waves. It was only after several hours that she rolled over and rummaged through the nightstand in desperate hopes to find anything that resembled a Dreamless Sleep Tonic. Sure, enough there was a small vial—small but effective nonetheless.

Tonight, she would not think about identities and consequences—of lost friends and family. There would be plenty of time for that in the morning.

Her last clear thought was the singular word _time,_ before the tonic took effect, drifting her off to a sleep so peaceful only magic could offer.

 


End file.
